


Oldest and Dearest Friend

by casualhades



Category: Gorillaz, Murdoc niccals - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Fan Work, Heavy undertones, Mentions of Death, Murdoc Niccals - Freeform, Other, Sadness, Swearing, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 09:16:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12165975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualhades/pseuds/casualhades
Summary: Murdoc's father is home earlier than usual, with a lot more baggage than he had. He confides heavily to an indifferent Murdoc in his time of need.





	Oldest and Dearest Friend

Therapy. Fuck.   
I had decided perhaps it was a good idea to go and talk to a shrink about the things that piss me off, as I sat on the off white fake leather loveseat, I regretted it. I had to tell him something today. So I decided to drop a bomb on him, same as it was dropped on me.   
"It was like... 1980 something." I started, looking off into an unspecific corner of the room.   
I turned to face the man, who was staring me down like I was food. He sat anxiously on the corner of his seat, and clung to my every word.   
"Your father died in 1998, correct, Mr. Niccals?" He asked, scribbling some shit down on his notepad.   
"Yeah... 1998. As I was sayin', if you'd let me even start, it was a day in the fall, everything was just turning colours and dying, things were changin' bit by bit." And as I dove into this saddening tale, I was younger.. I saw it all clear as day, like I was there one last time.   
The day was clear, not a cloud to be seen, and I remember I was sitting and listening to my records, when I heard a familiar sound: the door slamming. I glanced over at the clock that flashed bright red on my bedside stand, which told me that it was indeed too early for what was about to happen. It was only half past six.   
My father ran the booze every night, drinkin' his mind to mush. And when he couldn't afford his drink, he would smoke, find women, do whatever it took to soothe the pain that he would evade for the rest of his days. My father was not a caring man, by any means. He found me on a doorstep, from a girl he'd knocked up before. Still aren't sure on who exactly my mum is, but that's not the point.   
The door would slam, but not at it's usual 'sometime after midnight', like I said, it was much too early. My brother and I were home by ourselves, the fuckin' sod, and we had parted ways directly after returning from school. Hannibal had disappeared into the pit that was his room. 

After the door had shut, I heard the footsteps creep upstairs. I felt my body tense up, something wasn't quite right. Usually he would start to wail as soon as he walked in, yelling about the state of things, the house, all of it, and it was usually pinned on me. I braced myself against the headboard of my bed and waited. The doorknob to my room turned for a moment, before the door popped open slightly.   
"Oi..." He would say, voice barely above a whisper.   
"Yeah?" I would answer, skeptical. My father never approached me like this. Or at least he hadn't in many years.   
"Uh, dunno if you've heard, but uh..." The hesitation in his voice was laughable, the man who always had something to fucking say couldn’t find the words. I was about to say something entirely uncalled for when I heard him. His voice wavered, his face in the doorway was pale as he fought to keep his composure. His face contorted in ways I hadn't seen in years.   
I stood from my bed and approached him, warily. I was about 5 feet from the door when he actually was able to say something.   
"He's dead, I can't believe..."   
"Who, dad? Who's died?"   
"It’s fucking Hugo, innit?" He would snap, his voice crackling, unable to keep his tone.   
His best mate, nonetheless, one of them. A drinking buddy who'd been around for years, like brothers, even. I stood there as my heart hit the floor. I had been fond of Hugo; his kids were about the same age as myself and my brother. He had a daughter, same age as me, we always got on. 

Unsure of exactly what he expected from me, I would awkwardly outstretch my arms toward him as I shuffled closer, wary of trying to get within arm's reach to begin with. I would open my arms toward him in a display of utter vulnerability, one broken soul to another. He backed away, hissing almost.   
"I'm fine, don't touch me! I'm going to sleep, and if any of you little shits disturb me, you'll be sorry."   
And with that, the door would shut, and I would be left standing there by myself, arms dropped down to my sides.   
A few tears would escape, my body would not be racked with grief, sobs would not echo from my room that night. I would lay quietly and listen to the faint sound of bottles, sobs and coughs that would erupt sporadically throughout the night. I would hear a few words, a bottle smash, a sob, and the sad whimpers of a man who had not seen that coming.   
Hugo was only a few years my father's senior, being relative in age, I think it scared him more, now. I think he realized that his own mortality was waning, his youth spent, now that his friends had begun dying, he would have to come up with something. The man didn’t work, I earned his drinking money.   
He didn't even have a corner to shit in when it came down to it. 

I would snap from my stupor as I talked, the man scribbling furiously down in a notebook.   
"Is that all, Mr. Niccals?" Fucking hell, I hated being addressed so fucking formally.   
"Yeah, sure, whatever, are we done here?" I asked, checking the time idly.   
"Well actually now that I have this, I feel like we've uncovered something huge, and I feel like we're about to have a breakthrough. Now if you could start by telling me how this made you feel-"   
I stood and grabbed my jacket, which clung to the arm of the couch I had been laying on.   
"Right, I've got no interest in your diagnosis, drugs or what have you. I'll be back when I feel another emotional breakdown on the way, til then, doctor."   
And with that, I left the therapist sitting alone with one of my lifetime burdens.

**Author's Note:**

> A silly little thing I wrote earlier, a scenario I found myself dealing with earlier, and thought it would be interesting to translate into another Murdoc tale. It just seemed to fit to me, I don't even know that Sebastian Niccals even had friends or drinking buddies.


End file.
